Misleading Friendship
by escapistone
Summary: Clayton Webb meets a certain JAG lawyer while he is undercover. Chapter 10 UP COMPLETE Webb and Meg finish reconciling
1. 1

Disclaimer: all of these characters etc belong to Donald Bellasario; CBS, NBC, USA and any other network or production company involved. I do not own nor am I making any money off of these characters.

Okay, this is my first JAG fic. Fair warning, it is a touch implausible, but then again, so is the series.

Let's say that this is set sometime before Bud got his leg blown off and that Mac and Brumby are not together.

Clayton Webb sighed as he sank blissfully into the pool that the hotel he was in had provided. He personally considered it a small miracle that the hotel had a pool large enough to do laps in and not just a kiddy friendly decorative one.

Growling under his breath, he began his early morning swim. He was being punished. There was no other way to put it. A spy of his caliber would not be tailing around after a low ranking smuggler if he was not being punished. Clayton Webb assigned the people who assigned these types of surveillance projects. He did not sit around in a family friendly middleclass hotel and watch for some arms dealer to take an order.

It was boring and way below his capabilities. The order man was impossibly easy to track. He was not very smooth about when he lied, and he probably would not make a very big deal.

Oh, any information would no doubt be helpful to the company, but still…

He really should change his number. Maybe he should ask for a transfer. If he just had not caved into Rabb and his "Look at me, Mr. American, Wanna be my friend?" grin, he would not be tailing around some idiot.

Clayton turned and started kicking his way back across the pool. He really needed to quit making friends. Maybe he could incite Roberts to speak of the evils of the CIA. A little nudge at the Admiral should hammer in how untrustworthy Webb was. That would make Rabb suspicious and leery again.

Either that, or Clayton Webb would find himself watching some ridiculous sports game and male bonding with Rabb.

Clayton sighed as he pushed himself to swim faster. If there was a way to make MacKenzie hate him, she would convince Rabb that hating Webb was a good thing too. The only problem with that theory was that the Major was just as determined to be Webb's friend as Rabb was. Well, maybe a little less friendly, but still…

With a groan, Webb pulled himself out of the pool and stared at the room his subject was occupying. No light on. Not really surprising, the schlep had been out drinking 'til all hours last night. It did not matter if the guy was awake, Webb already had the whole room bugged. If anything happened, it would be recorded on video tape and two audio tapes. He doubted that this level of creep had the imagination to look for bugs at all, let alone all of the ones he had planted.

With a final glance at the room, Clay began to head back to his own room, already cursing the rising heat.

He hated Texas.

Things had not improved come lunch time. He was sitting at bar of the hotel restaurant eating something that was supposedly a seafood salad while his subject began on his daily drinking festivities.

He took another bite of his salad. Gah, only iceberg lettuce, the shrimp was canned and he swore that that imitation crab was really made out of chicken.

"Excuse me," a voice came from the bar stool to his left, "is that salad any good?"

'Oh great, a native' was the first thought that popped into Clay's mind. The Texas accent was mild, but it was undeniably there. The second thought that popped into his mind was to highly recommend the salad and the hideous Italian dressing they served with it, but he was not feeling particularly sadistic at the moment.

"If you must know, it tastes like cardboard and the lettuce has wilted to the texture of the green snot that comes out of your nose when you have the flu."

'There,' thought Clay, 'that should ward off any further conversation.'

"I'll order something else then."

The voice was suspiciously still friendly. Too friendly. The kind of friendly people put on when they are really in a bad mood but want to show others what a great time they are having.

Sipping at his water to cleanse his palate, Clay decided to solve the mini-mystery sitting next to him. I had to beat watching his subject drink beer.

A somewhat petite blond sat next to him. Her freshly cut hair was very utilitarian and could definitely use a touch more styling. Same thing went for her makeup. She had good facial features and judging by her arm muscles, she was in very good shape.

"Not to appear rude, but why are you talking to me?" He'd have to thank Rabb for the first part of that sentence. Normally, he just would have snipped out the main question.

Blue eyes hardened over as his companion glared at him, "Don't patronize me."

Clay's eyebrow went up. Okay, so the lady was temperamental. That meant she either just had a fight with her parents or her boyfriend.

"Bad day?" he asked, hoping he sounded genuine.

"You could say that," she replied slightly more friendly.

"Boyfriend?"

"I don't have a boyfriend. I did have a date."

Clay looked around the room to see a tall and handsome man trying not to look like he was eyeing them.

"Mr. Swarthy Knuckles over there?" Clay asked as he gestured with his thumb.

The lady laughed, "An old high school friend set me up with him. He insulted me and my profession four times in the hour I've been with him. When we got here, he started talking about how great he was. I couldn't stand it, so I told him that I was really just going out with him to sooth my friend's feelings. I told him that I'd just acquired a new boyfriend and that he was waiting for me."

"Sooo, you came to the bar because?"

"Because he somehow got the impression that my boyfriend was waiting for me in this place. I didn't want to look like I'd been lying and explain that my "boyfriend" was elsewhere, so I picked out the cutest guy at the bar that looked like he was alone."

"Which would be me. I'm flattered."

"Don't be. I usually pick out taller guys with more charming dispositions."

"I'd be insulted if not for the fact that you're my girlfriend, and I'm extremely bored. If you'll excuse me, I think I should have a chat with your boyfriend."

"WHAT? You can't do that."

"He insulted my girl, do you think any self-respecting man would stand for that?"

"But, you're not really my boyfriend, and he'll flatten you."

"Yes, but he broke every rule about politeness on a date. Unless… you don't do anything illegal for a living do you?"

"No."

"Are you a showgirl or a stripper?"

"What!"

"Well then, like I said, I'm perfectly justified in my outrage."

Clay ignored his stunned companion and walked over to the brute.

"I'd like a word with you, sir."

The swarthy man looked him up and down, "Go home. Your girl probably does your fightin' for you anyway. Tell me, do you really like a woman who's out of her place like she is?"

"The only person out his place is you. Now, I request that you apologize to… ummm… my girl," Clay finished lamely.

The problem was, the guy viewed Clay's stuttering as fear instead of ignorance.

One short trip outside later, Clayton Webb had a bruised gut and a split lip. The other guy was unconscious and worse off.

"Are you crazy?" the woman from the bar was beside him.

"Of course not, I had to defend myself after he took the first swing. The problem with these guys is that they always leave their lower bodies open to attack."

"You should have just stayed at the bar. Do you realize how much trouble your interference has caused?"

"My interference? Look you're that one who picked me to be your boyfriend."

"You realize that the police are coming."

"So? He attacked me, everyone saw it. I'll get all patched up, go back to home-sweet-hotel room, and then I'll be nice and not press charges."

"How are you going to explain how the fight started?"

"I'm going to tell the truth. He insulted my girlfriend; I asked him to apologize; he insulted me; I insulted him; he swung first."

"But I'm not your girlfriend!"

"Well, you'll just have to be, now won't you?"

"Fine. Don't you think that I should know your name? At least before we get questioned?"

"Claymore Weston. I sell industrial tools. I'm here on vacation from Virginia to visit my online girlfriend which would be you."

"What were you vacation here to do before?"

"Get a tan and see the sights of Texas on an economy plan."

"Oh, well I'm Meg, and I'll be happy to show you around."

Clay inwardly winced at the thought of going sightseeing, but smiled bravely, "You don't have to do that, Meg. I'm just fine as it is."

"Oh, but I owe you for that display. There is no way I could have done that."

"I'm sure you could have. You look like you're in good shape."

"I could have beaten him easily, but the military frowns on their members beating up civilians."

"You're in the military?" Clay asked conversationally although he suspected it already.

"Yeah, I'm a lawyer."

Clay smiled. He needed to brush up on his sneaky tactics at Jag. How much easier would it be if he practiced on another lawyer?

"Really? That must be fascinating work."

"It is. Look, can I call you something shorter then Claymore? It doesn't seem appropriate for me to call you something so long."

"You can call me Clay."

"Great."

Clayton Webb got up the next morning with a certain amount of zeal. He might hate what he was doing as far as his assignment went, but to practice his craft on a live lawyer was just the spice he needed.

Too many people saw through his façade at JAG. He needed to be less transparent to the legal eye. Meg would be perfect for that.

Now, if only he could tamp down on the nagging feeling that she was familiar somehow. The quick background check he had called in the night before showed her to be an exemplary officer. He hadn't asked for specifics because he was too busy practicing his excuses for getting into a fight on company time. Besides, the specifics were not necessary beyond the fact that she was not a threat to him or his assignment.

She had a week long leave. Of that week, she only had three days left, it was not like she was going to be a permanent fixture in his life.

With a smile, he headed out the door for his "date."

Clayton Webb smiled as he very calmly poured his beer down the stadium floor. He had come to the incontrovertible fact that while non-imported beer was bad, the beer at sports events in the cheap seats was worse. At least Rabb had the grace to have it chilled and not flat.

"Are you having a good time?" Meg asked interrupting his gloomy thoughts.

"Wonderful, I can never thank you enough for introducing me to football. I mean, Texas football. Or that is the Texas football team."

"You've never seen a football game before?"

Blast, he'd been caught off guard. What kind of middleclass salesman did not watch football on the weekend?

"Well, I usually prefer other sports. You know, baseball, golf…"

"Hey, you don't need to get defensive. Not everyone watches football."

Webb smiled, "Are you sure you don't have a boyfriend? I mean you're understanding and watch sports. That should make you irresistible to men."

"Did you just give me a compliment?"

"No, it was only an observation. I swear upon my future grave."

She smiled and shook her head at him. He smiled back for a while before he caught himself and stopped.

"I, um, I dropped my beer during the last cheering bout. I think I'll go get a new one. Can I get you anything?"

"No, go on I'm fine." Meg replied once again engrossed in the game.

Clay all but ran from the stands. He needed to get a grip. A big grip. There was absolutely no way he was going to let himself become friendly with a member of the opposite sex who was a member of the US military, especially when he was undercover.

Besides, they had nothing in common. She was from Texas, he was from the east coast. He was sneaky and underhanded. She was an upright military lawyer. He did the foxtrot; she probably square danced. He drank limited vintage wines; she probably drank wine coolers.

It would be like dating Harm, only Harm wasn't from Texas and didn't square dance.

Okay, so it would not be like dating Harm, but it still was highly inadvisable. It was unsafe. It could jeopardize his mission. It would never work. They were not compatible.

Clay hesitated. He was trying to talk himself out of a situation that he was not even in. Great, now he had proof he had been around Roberts too much. He was starting to worry.

Shaking his head, he got a flat soda instead of a flat beer and headed back to the bleachers.

By the next night, Clayton Webb admitted that he was in way over his head. He had been in a euphoric state earlier in the day. His subject had finally taken the order, and he had called in the necessary information. All that was left was to hang around the area for a while and cover his tracks.

He blamed his earlier good mood for his current situation, which was the fact that he was having pizza with Meg. She had called his room and asked if he had plans for the evening. He stupidly said no.

Now, he was stuck in a small pizzeria with a beautiful blond. A blond that, he might add, had not ranked on his beautiful list the first time he had met her. She had ranked somewhere around the 4.0 mark then. Now she was very rapidly dispelling the other women he could still recall.

That meant that infatuation was setting in. Okay, so he had always been a bit of a sucker for a slightly nerdy woman. He couldn't help it. It was a family weakness. Webb men always strived for a woman that could beat them at mind games.

Of course, when he found out she had horses, well that had been another mark in her favor. Naturally, she did not ride the same thoroughbreds and Arabians that he did, but she had a deep respect for the basic animal that Clay found refreshing. After all, riding styles were important, but they meant nothing if you could not properly enjoy the animal itself.

"So, Meg, why are you here with me tonight?"

"Honestly? I couldn't stand my mother asking me about my love life, so I said I was going out with Gary."

"The guy I beat up?"

"Well, Mom doesn't know how the date ended, so I told her that I was seeing him again. It was better than telling her I was going to see some guy I met in the bar of a hotel."

"Ah."

Well that also added sneakiness to her admirable traits.

"Clay, what are your parents like?"

He froze for a second and thought, he did not have a detailed background story for this operation. He could bluff his way through, but she would know that he was lying. Besides that little seed of conscience that Rabb had planted was growing. He was having a hard time sticking to his cover story as it was.

"Well, my father died when I was young. He was overseas and there was and accident. A building collapsed on him. My mother is still alive. She runs the household. Makes sure I eat when I come home. Tries to make me make friends."

Meg laughed, "Don't you mean make good friends?"

"No, she's pretty thrilled when I can get a dog to like me. Sometimes she'll settle for a fly landing on me."

"I find that hard to believe."

"You're the one who called me un-personable."

"I most certainly did not."

"Well, I didn't rank as having a charming personality."

"You still don't."

"Then why don't you believe me about my friend-life?"

"Because you keep getting that look that says your thinking about what your friends would say."

"Actually, I'm conjuring up what my enemies would say."

"Really, and what would they say?"

"That I'd somehow tricked such a wonderful person into going out with me."

"Does that line normally work for you?"

"No, usually 'Do you want to spend the weekend in Martha's Vineyard' works better."

Meg laughed harder, "You have got to be kidding."

"Hey, I look very respectable in a suit."

"Oh yeah, I can just see you in a designer three-piece suit in some exclusive nightclub picking up girls."

"You don't think it would suit me?"

"Clay, after watching you slouching around in blue jeans and tee-shirts I find it hard to see you as that stuffy. You might be snotty enough, but you're just too much of a real person to pull it off. You've got a heart buried somewhere under your attitude. Besides, your hair would need more grooming."

Clay squirmed. Opting for the easy out, he said, "So, you don't like my hair?"

"Actually, I really like it. The softly tousled look becomes you."

He blushed, "I usually don't get compliments like that."

"Probably because you chase away all the nice girls with your one liners. I, on the other hand, have learned to see beyond first impressions."

"And how did you see beyond my first impression?"

"You were chivalrous to a woman you didn't know. You got in a fight with a guy that you could easily have avoided by telling the truth to him and making a fool out of me. A guy that would do that isn't as mean as he pretends to be."

Clay smiled weakly. He was beginning to think that lawyers would be his Achilles heel. They seemed to see straight through him.

"Clay," Meg began, "Do you think that maybe we could write each other?"

"What?"

"You know, your mother wants you to have friends. Why don't we write to each other. I don't get to have many friends outside of the military. I'll give you my e-mail address, and you can give me yours."

Clay knew he should have said no, but he didn't. Soon they were parting and he was running back to his hotel room to set up the e-mail account that he had given her.

He shook his head. What in the world was he thinking?


	2. 2

First chapter disclaimer

Yes, it is the same Meg

2. Obviously, Meg would have been promoted during her time away, so I've advanced her rank to Lt. Commander.

Clayton Webb fidgeted with his tie. There had been plenty of times in his life when he had felt uncomfortable, but this was the first time it could have easily been avoided. All he would have had to do was give Meg a bad e-mail address or never respond to one of her e-mails or stage a whole internet fight and never speak to her again. Yet, he did not.

Instead, he sunk deeper and deeper into his self made pit. Inch by inch she was digging out a carefully hidden personality. Clayton Webb did not let people get to know him; he made people wish he did not exist. But Meg Austin kept pushing away his snide comments and getting him to be truthful.

She was also making him sloppy. Normally, he always did a full background check done on anyone he spent any amount of time on. He always did it himself to make certain there were no mistakes made. He had skipped his normal procedure for her. The guy he had called to do her check said she was clean, and he believed. He did not even do a secondary check. It seemed somehow wrong to doubt her like that.

That, he mused, was one big problem. He trusted her for absolutely no good reason. She was just so personable, so bright, so cheery. He almost felt like he was using her to supply him with his next hit of happiness. His job was depressing. Heck, his whole life was mostly one discouraging international crisis after another. The sad thing was he loved it. He loved it, and he was using Meg's optimism like a steroid for a body builder. And if he was going to use Meg like that, the least he could do was trust her to be a good little naval officer.

Of course, there was the slight problem that he totally and completely lied about his job, name and family background. He could not even give her his standard State Department excuse. Nooo, he was a stupid salesman. His false identity did not keep him from discussing with her, after all, he could always alter the details of his life into and acceptable format. It did, however, make for incredibly uncomfortable moments.

As far as Meg knew, he was a middleclass guy. As a result, she had absolutely no qualms about talking about the snotty upper-class and their arrogance. She was required to attend her fair share of political functions as a navy lawyer, and she never failed to write to Clay complaining about the stupid snobs and their discussions about dancing and softshell crab. She apparently had a strong dislike for snotty people who had inherited their money. She said that they did not have the first concept about how other people lived. They only cared about themselves.

Clay could not help but be hurt by that comment. If the only person he cared about was himself, he would not be out there everyday trying to track down crime bosses or trying to stop weapons smuggling. Meg had said he hid behind a false exterior; would she think differently if she found out he was just a rich kid? Then again, it really did not matter. If she ever found out that he had lied to her, she would not be around long enough to tell him. She trusted him and he was actively betraying her trust by his mere presence in her life.

Clay shook his head. Rabb would probably kill him for doing something so mean to such a sweet person. Then again, Rabb should be happy he had kept up relations with Meg. Her optimistic outlook on life had affected how Webb reacted with the JAG staff. As a result of her interference, he was currently standing on the Admiral's doorstep delivering information that he was supposed to deny existed.

The door creaked open as Chegwidden popped a suspicious head out of the door.

"Webb, what are you doing here?" he asked in a highly annoyed voice.

"I'm delivering the information you requested, remember?" Clay responded in his typically snippy and superior tone.

The Admiral's eyes widened, "You got it?"

"Yeah, and if you want to catch the guy before he leaves the country, you'll have to make it to the airport in half an hour."

"Thanks Webb. Oh… I'm babysitting little AJ for Bud and Harriett. Could you…"

"You are babysitting for the Roberts's urchin? You'll excuse me if you aren't the first person that pops to mind…"

The rest of Webb's diatribe was cut short as he was hauled through the front door by the lapels of his coat.

"Webb, I will owe you a big favor if you'll look after AJ for me."

That was too good an opportunity to pass up.

"Of course I'll take care of him. Don't worry I had a training class on how to care for traumatized children that are important witnesses. I can adapt from there."

Chegwidden gave Webb a suspicious look before he bolted from the house.

Clay looked around to see young Roberts staring at him. Blast, he forgot to ask when Bud was going to pick up the little urchin.

"So, AJ, when do you normally go to bed?"

The young toddler look up at him, "You don't look scary."

"I, thank you."

"Daddy says you're a spook, but you don' look like a ghost."

Wonderful, just wonderful, "Yes, well that is something adults say and not something for young ears to repeat."

The child stared blankly at him, "Why?"

Oh no, he was not falling for that, "Because, and that is all the answer you are getting."

"Why?"

Clay rolled his eyes. His expression froze when he smelled something from the kitchen. Chegwidden must have been fixing supper. By the time he reached the stove, whatever canned substance had been cooking was burned.

Even better, now he had to cook something appropriate for a young child.

He smiled down at the small boy staring up at him, "How do you feel about pasta?"

A supper of barely seasoned and soft noodles later the Roberts had still not returned to claim their child, nor had Chegwidden returned from capturing the bad guy. Little AJ did not appear ready for bed, and Clayton Webb had to do something to occupy the inquisitive child.

In the span of time following, Clayton Webb had explained in as much detail as was possible for a young child to understand about proper manner for being introduced and the proper way to become an accomplished equestrian. When those courses of action failed, he sought to bring true pain into Bud Roberts' life. He introduced young AJ to the joys of classical music.

He had drifted off to sleep on Chegwidden's couch somewhere between concertos. Young Roberts had fallen asleep in his arms earlier when Clay had first put his music cds into Chegwidden's player.

At midnight, he heard a soft footstep. A second later, his gun was pointing at the heart of the owner of the foot.

He really wished that he had a picture of Bud's face at that moment. Clay did not know whether it was the shock of seeing a gun pointed at him, or the shock of seeing a nemesis holding his son, but Bud's mouth was positively gaping.

"Bud? Is there something wrong?" Harriett asked as she entered the living room behind her husband.

Bud was not to the point of coherent speech, so Webb took over for him, "Simms, I mean Roberts. Admiral Chegwidden was unexpectedly called away. I, ah, took care of your son for him."

"Thank you Mr. Webb," Harriett smiled.

"What did you do with him?" Bud's suspicious voice finally issued out from his mouth.

"Roberts, I'm insulted. I've merely infected him with the evil Webb cooties. By tomorrow morning he'll be walking around in expensive suits and reading classified information. I'm surprised you don't know. It's how we breed our young."

"Very funny," Bud frowned at Webb.

"Bud, Mr. Webb was very generous to take care of AJ," Harriett reprimanded her husband.

"I was indeed. I believe this belongs to you," Clay said as he handed the still sleeping AJ to his father. "What were you two doing out so late anyhow?"

"Bud took me to the ballet and dinner for my birthday. The Admiral volunteered to take care of AJ for the night. What happened to him anyway?"

"That is classified information. If you'll excuse me, I have to get home."

With that, Clayton Webb pushed himself out towards Chegwidden's front door. Tonight was not a good night for his persona. First, he had done something nice. Then he had done something almost giving towards the dreaded Bud Roberts. Drat that Meg. Next thing he knew, he would probably be saying 'please' and 'thank you.'

The woman was a disease. The only problem was, he had the sinking feeling the name of the disease was love.


	3. 3

First chapter = disclaimers

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Meg twirled a pencil around in her fingers as she contemplated her latest e-mail from Clay. She felt guilty. On one hand, she felt guilty that she had been probing into Clay's life. The way his e-mails came in just did not add up to a salesman with a normal work week. He seemed distracted sometimes. Other times, he would just appear to be e-mailing her in the middle of the night for no apparent reason.

This, of course, she could pass off easily if not for the fact that he tended to avoid certain questions. So she had started her own investigation of Claymore Weston. After a personal phone call to the manager of his company, she found out that he did not, in fact, work there. After a little more research, she found out that a certain Claymore Weston was working as a manager on rotating shifts at a twenty-four hour gas station.

The fact that he had lied to her bothered her for a bit until she realized he had just been trying to save her the humiliation of him being a gas pump jockey. Here she was a lieutenant commander and a lawyer, and he probably barely graduated high school.

But, she had another reason for feeling guilty. She never talked to Clay about her work, not really. It just seemed that her whole existence revolved around being a naval lawyer and the Navy in general. Was it wrong of her to focus on the rest of her life when she talked with Clay? One part of her said no. After all, he was not exactly truthful with her, why should she feel bad about avoiding mentioning the military?

Besides, she had a right to have a relationship that was not based on her career didn't she? So she did not tell her other friends about Clay and vice versa. Was that wrong? After all, he did not talk about his friends all that much.

Meg shook her head and placed her pencil down on her desk. Perhaps it was time to let a little more truth into their relationship.

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Harmon Rabb, JR , naval pilot and lawyer extraordinaire, opened his apartment door to a very frazzled looking Clayton Webb.

"Webb, what's wrong? Evil spies chasing you again, or did you forget your mother's birthday?"

"Very funny, Rabb," Clay said as he slid into Harm's apartment.

"Oooh, testy, and whatever it is, the answer is no."

"What makes you think I want something from you?"

"Do you ever come and see me when you don't want something?"

"Well, I sent you a get well card the last time you were beat up and put in the hospital. When was that anyway? Two weeks ago? Or was it one? It's hard to keep all of your injuries from blurring together."

"Hey, some of those injuries were because of you."

"Yes, but most of them were your doing. Honestly, not even the colonel gets in as much trouble as you do."

"Okay, okay. What do you want?"

"Actually, um, what I want is a little advice."

"Advice?" Harm's voice was incredulous.

"Yes. If you, by some chance, met a girl and she was under the impression that you were someone else, how would you tell her you weren't?"

"Webb, not to seem flippant, but don't you have more experience in this than I do? I mean, how hard is it to tell someone that you really work for the CIA and not for the State Department?"

"Well, let's say, for the sake of debate, that she didn't know I worked for the State Department."

"I would say that would depend on what she thought you did."

"Suppose I said she thought I was a middleclass salesman with a typical mortgage and taste for all American sports."

"Some poor woman actually believes that? Webb, either she is too stupid to live, or you have somehow gotten her enthralled with you. I'd say the best thing to do for her is shoot her."

"Very funny, Rabb. This coming from the man who dated 'Neurotic Annie.'"

"Have you been talking to Mac?"

"Actually, Mac talked to Harriet who agreed and told Bud who told Chegwidden who told me."

"The Admiral told you?"

"Well, he was drunk at the time. We were celebrating our little rescue mission and instead of breaking my nose, he told embarrassing stories about his officers."

"Pity he didn't break your nose."

"I think this is a mistake."

"Aww, come one Webb, I was just joking."

"No, I meant coming to you at all. My mind's eye has been reliving your romantic endeavors. I also reviewed Mac's. I've got to tell you, the two of you are a matched set. I wonder if I could talk to Chegwidden. All he has had is a divorce and a dead girlfriend. He's a love guru compared to the two of you."

Harm frowned, "That was a bit harsh."

"I really should say something nasty and sarcastic right now, but I won't because I like you… I did not just say that out loud did I?"

"Clay, I think this whole thing is affecting you more than you realize. We were wondering why you were being so nice."

"I have not been being nice."

"Webb, you sent Bud and Harriet classical music cds and horseback riding lessons for A.J."

"That was simply to annoy Roberts. It has nothing to do with being nice."

"Oh, how about that file that mysteriously landed on Mac's desk the other day?"

"I was simply doing a favor so that I could redeem it later on."

"Webb, can you ever not shade the truth?"

"Yes."

Harm shook his head and sighed, "Look, if I were you, I'd just take her somewhere nice and tell her. It's the best that you can hope for. I'd say something about her loving you, but I'm not really sure that that is possible," Harm shot Webb his flyboy grin.

"You know Rabb, there are days I envy you. Everyone can love the truth seeking pilot, not a lot of people can stomach the guy creeping around every corner and snooping through their lives. We're both out there trying to keep the same people safe, but you will be the one with 'hero' written in your obituary. Mine will probably say, 'Man found floating in river, apparently choked on a piece of lobster and fell overboard."

"Clay…"

"Don't, please, I'm losing my self identity here. Besides, bad things happen to your friends almost as often as your love life crashes."

"Clay," harm's voice was tinged with both amusement and exasperation.

"No, really, I'll bring you the statistics."

"Goodnight, Webb."

"Goodnight, Rabb. Oh, and think about what I said. You and Mac would make a great pair."

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There on his computer screen laid his latest e-mail. Clay tapped his fingers on his desk before he responded. Meg had a leave coming and she wanted to spend it with him. It was the perfect opportunity to talk to her. It was the perfect opportunity to just get it all out in the open, but he found himself hesitating. 

A million 'what ifs' ran amok in his head, thousands of worries were battling to swallow him whole. With his typical resoluteness, he began typing. After all, with a beautiful location like Florida, what could possibly go wrong? 


	4. 4

First chapter disclaimers.

_Italics _thoughts

Clayton Webb stepped hesitantly into the hotel lobby. He was not sure whether it was the stunningly gaudy décor that was make his stomach queasy, or the fact that he was supposed to meet Meg in the brightly colored tourist trap. Had he asked himself earlier, he would have bet on Meg, but the fuchsia carpeting was quickly gaining ground.

If this was any other woman, he'd have sent the largest flower arrangement possible and told her to have a nice life. Pretending to be a homeless man for the Company was one thing. But to willingly submit himself to the urban torture of a hotel overrun by screaming children and desperate tourists, that was a totally different matter. The last time he was in Florida, he had been a guest at some friends of his mother's in West Palm Beach.

Instead of plush surroundings, he was standing in the middle of some tourist trap, in blue jeans no less, waiting for a Navy Lawyer. Maybe he should have taken Chegwidden up on that offer to shoot him. It had to be less painful than looking at the brass flamingo sculpture.

"You look like you're going to eat that poor bird for supper, Clay," Meg said as she came up behind him.

Webb instinctively did not jump at the sound of her voice. He was never surprised, even when he was. It went against his very nature. Plus, it made other agents scared of him.

"Meg, I'm glad you made it. Did you have a good trip?" Inwardly, he winced at the mundane greeting. Where was his witty tongue now?

"It was good. How was your trip?"

_Oh, wonderful. You've never lived until you hop a twelve hour flight from some hellhole to Florida. The bugs I had crawling around in my hair were a great in-flight snack, _Clay's brain automatically provided.

He shook his head to clear the thought and said, "It was good. A bit cramped, but it was an economy flight."

_Yeah, a flight on the US government's economy…_ Webb shook his head again clamping down on his wayward thoughts.

"Clay are you okay? You seem to keep shaking your head," Meg asked.

_Probably picked up lice from that stupid…_ "Oh fine, I, um, just got some water in my ears. I took a shower before you got here."

"Oh, well you didn't have to do that."

_Oh yes I did, you really don't want to smell the remnants of a cover-up mission. _"Well, you know what they say. The best for the best."

"Have you been reading some self-help book?"

"I'll have you know that my governess taught me the proper way to treat a lady."

Meg laughed, "Oh, that is a good one, Clay. I can just see you sitting with some pompous old nanny learning proper etiquette."

Webb frowned, "You know, you're very hard on the rich for a girl whose family owns a ranch in Texas."

"There is a difference between us and the 'Upper-class.' You've probably never met blue bloods. They are incorrigible. Between the rich and the politicians, it is a miracle J.A.G. Headquarters ever gets anything done."

"You've been to the J.A.G. Headquarters in Virginia then?"

"Yes, I was stationed there for a while."

"Oh," Webb mentally kicked himself for not looking further into her service record.

"Enough about that though. We're here for relaxation. What do you want to do?"

Meg sighed as she brushed her hair out. Clay would be picking her up any minute now. She'd been here for three days and still had not gotten up the courage to confront Clay about his lies. When she was around him, she could not help but go along with what he was saying. It was only after she was no longer in his presence that she realized she had forgotten her objectives.

She heard the quiet rap on her hotel room door that announced he was ready for her. Clay was unaccountably punctual. It was amazing. Harm's last note had said that his partner 'Mac' was a human clock, but Meg wondered if Clay couldn't give her a run for her money.

"Come in, I'm almost ready," Meg called.

Clay came in and shut the door, "You really should never leave your hotel room door unlocked. You don't know who could break in without you knowing."

"Clay please, I only unlocked it a few minutes ago. Besides, I have my side arm and military training. I'm not defenseless like a gas station attendant or something," Meg looked closely at Clay's face waiting for a flash of guilt. Nothing.

"You should know then that you cannot predict what might happen and that no gun or security system can completely protect you."

"Listen to yourself, you sound like an employee training video for service station employees."

Webb's brow furrowed, "Is there a particular reason you keep using gas station analogies?"

"No, no. They just sort of popped to mind."

"Well, then. Perhaps we should just forget this petty argument and go to dinner. I hear the buffet is particularly lovely tonight."

"So did I. I hope they have another ice sculpture tonight."

"Yes, the chicken was very nice last night."

"Clay, that was a dolphin."

"Oh."

Webb rubbed his hands together as he waited for Meg to finish in the bathroom. The buffet had gone well, but she had continued making comments about management, trucking, gas prices, cars, oil, and anything else that was related to gas stations. He would have to have been a completely worthless spy not to know she was trying to hint at something. But what?

Did she want money to buy a new car? Was she changing her career?

He highly doubted a woman with her law degree would leave the navy to manage a gas station, but maybe she was having an identity crisis.

"Thanks for waiting, Clay. Would you like to take a walk?"

"I'd be delighted."

They walked for a while, enjoying the unobstructed view of the lights of various all night stores that their hotel provided.

"Clay, I can't take this anymore. I know you're hiding from me. You aren't an industrial tools salesman are you."

Clay sighed. He had hoped to wait until closer to the end of her leave to tell her, but now was as good of a time as any, "No, I'm not a salesman. I'm sorry Meg its just that…"

"I know you wanted to impress me because I'm a lawyer, but don't you see that it is the person that counts? I don't care what you do for a living."

"You don't?"

"I don't. You probably work just as hard for your paycheck as I do. There is no shame in what you do."

"You know what I do for a living?"

"Clay, I'm a computer expert. I did some research and made a few phone calls. You don't work for any tool company remotely near Virginia."

"Wow, I mean I'm a little surprised. How did you see through my cover?"

"Clay, your actions never really suited a salesman. You're too sarcastic."

"I suppose that my manners were off also."

"A bit."

"Look, Meg, I wanted to tell you, but I wasn't sure you were ready. Are you sure you're okay with me not being Mr. blue jeans and a t-shirt?"

Meg's smile faltered, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, are you okay that I don't spend Saturday night line dancing. That I take my mother to fancy dinners, that the last time I wore polyester was when my college roommate stole my clothes and left a powder blue suit behind."

Meg turned her back to him and fought back the tears. She had laid her heart out before him and he was lying to her. How could he? She had accepted his first falsehood and instead of changing for their relationship, he was trying to mislead her.

"How could you?" She said as she spun around with angry eyes, "I trusted you to be honest with me and shove this insanity at me?"

Clay frowned in confusion for a second before rebounding, "What do you mean? You're the one who said you didn't care."

"I didn't think that you were this much of a liar. You're nothing but a side show con. And that is all you'll ever be. You'll never stop pretending to be someone else will you? Goodbye. Don't bother contacting me again. EVER!"

Meg whirled and stalked away leaving Webb to stare at her retreating figure. He closed his eyes and slumped against the wall. Why could he handle moles and spies but women eluded him?

He shook his head, _Give me an evil spy any day. _His pager beeped. _I didn't mean that literally. _He cursed when he looked down at the number. They would not be calling him if it was not urgent. He automatically snapped into his professional demeanor. He pulled out his cellphone and turned it on.

"This is Webb. What have you got…"

Meg got up groggy the next morning. She'd thought about the fight all night and had decided that she had probably overreacted. After all, she did spring the whole thing on him a little suddenly. Maybe she should at least apologize to him. She was certain a relationship would not work out if he could not tell her the truth when confronted, but the man did seem to have a good heart. Even if he was mislead. Wouldn't she help Harm if he was having problems facing reality?

With determination, she picked up the phone, "Could you please transfer my call to room 208?"

"I'm sorry, but the gentleman has checked out of room 208. Something of an emergency, I believe. He bribed the night desk clerk so he could checkout."

"Oh, I see. Thank you," Meg set the receiver down. She pulled out her laptop and accessed her e-mail account. She sent out a quick message. It really didn't surprise her when the e-mail was returned.

A small swell of grief rose in her as she looked out the window. She had hurt him last night, hurt him enough that he had literally made sure they would not make contact. It was a shame.


	5. 5

First chapter disclaimers

Harmon Rabb walked briskly down the aisle of the hospital. He had just arrived at J.A.G. Headquarters for the morning when he had received a phone call. Porter Webb had called. Clayton had been in a "freak accident." If anyone wanted to see him, he was allowed visitors.

A quick vote had gotten Harm nominated to go and get a full report. Mac had taken over his work and Chegwidden had surprisingly ordered flowers to be sent.

Harm stopped in front of the room that the nurse had indicated. With a short rap on the door, he entered the room. Clayton Webb lay on the standard hospital bed. His coloring was pale, and his face was bruised. His right hand sported two splinted fingers. Whatever other damage there was, was covered by the sheets.

"I'm guessing I don't look too good right now," Clayton spoke before Harm could summon words.

"That would be one way of putting it," Harm replied as he sauntered over to Clay's bedside.

"Well, I suppose I'm better off than I should be considering what happened."

"Care to tell me exactly what did happen?"

"I had a building fall on me."

"I'm guessing the rest is classified?"

"Actually, the fact that the building fell on me is classified, but I knew you wouldn't fall for a freak accident at the family stables."

"No. The fact that you haven't been in the country for three weeks pretty much ruled out that possibility."

"How did you know I wasn't in the country?"

"Because we called your office looking for you. If we had called and you were in the country, you would have been able to contact us because you would have been able to slip away from whatever assignment you had."

Clay snorted, "It figures. I get a chance to earn some IOU's, and I'm gone. I take it you did fine without me?"

"Well, I'd hate to break it to you in your condition, but, yes."

"Into everyone's life a little torrential flood must sometimes flow and rip out all existence of civilization; I suppose."

"It isn't that bad, Webb."

"I beg to differ."

Harm shook his head and tried another route, "So, is your girlfriend coming to visit you?"

"What girlfriend?"

"The one you stopped and tried to talk to me about."

"Oh, we broke up right before I took my, 'business trip.'"

"Didn't take well to you being a spy?"

"I really don't know. One moment, she is telling me how she knows I'm hiding from her. So, I tell her the truth, and she goes ballistic on me and tells me to never talk to her again."

"What can I tell you, if women are an enigma to the man that knows Mac's dress size, I'm sure they are impossible to figure out."

"Oh, you're a lot of help, Rabb. Remind me never to have you as my legal counsel."

"I work for J.A.G. I can't be your legal counsel anyway."

"Aren't you supposed to be here giving me support?"

"I am. Clay, you don't like it if you aren't antagonized. You should see yourself. Your skin tone has improved 50 since I came in here."

"Fine."

"You're sulking."

"Of course I'm sulking. Didn't anyone ever tell you that the blue-blooded rich sulk like children when they don't get their way?" Clay twisted his face into a bitter expression.

"I'm guessing from your expression that that comment wasn't directed at me," Harm said as he studied the man in front of him.

"My… girl, she sort of had a disdain for rich people. You know, I know how to handle being injured and mentally attacked by my enemies. I know how to handle being physically injured by my friends. But, I can't seem to handle this whole situation. I've been dumped before for worse reasons. How come I'm not springing back?"

Harm looked directly at Webb's face, "Because you were never really in love before."

"I had a terrible feeling you were going to say that. That makes two for true love and one against."

"Who's against?"

"Mother thinks that if it was true love, she would never have dropped me like that. She also thinks that I would never fall in love with a woman that didn't love me with equal passion, so she just thinks I'm under a great deal of stress."

"Clay…"

"Don't! Look, Rabb I appreciate you coming to see me, but you're right. I can't handle empathy from you. I tried being open. It didn't work, and I probably made a mistake on my last mission because of it. Why don't you just go and have fun with your honest friends. I'll be back being irascible as soon as I'm through with the physical therapy."

Rabb smiled, "You sure you don't want me to tell you what a jerk you are before I go?"

"Nah, if I get lonely for insults, I'll just call Chegwidden. He has a flair you really don't."

"'Bye Webb."

"Bye."

Clay watched with a heavy heart as Harm left his room. How was he ever going to recall his objectivity?

Meg patted her hair down nervously as she walked into the J.A.G. Headquarters. One month after her breakup with Clay, she had been offered a transfer back. After a moment's hesitation, she had agreed. A small thought nagged at the back of her head that she might run across Clay if she returned. She was not certain if she relished the possibility or if she was petrified by it.

After being properly sworn into her post, she was left to meet her new workmates.

"Welcome back, Meg," Harm grinned at her shock as she whirled around.

"Commander, you shouldn't sneak up on people like that."

"Ah, but you aren't 'people,' Meg, you're a friend. That gives me the right to surprise you."

"And he does worse, let me assure you. Are you sure you don't want him back? I'd be happy to give him," Mac said as she came up beside Harm.

"Oh, you must be Mac."

"I must be. And you are Meg, I take it?"

"Yes, I am, Colonel."

"Well, welcome to J.A.G. I assume Harm hasn't introduced you to anyone yet?"

"No, the Admiral did, but he got called away."

"Hey, I haven't introduced her to anyone yet because someone I know is hogging talking time," Harm protested.

"Oh, Harm, you can be such a cry baby," Mac smiled as she began to move Meg down the hallway.

Harm looked towards the ceiling and sighed. He had a bad feeling about those two woman talking to each other.


	6. 6

First chapter disclaimers

Meg sighed as she looked at the mountain of paperwork that was formerly known as her desk. As much as she hated to admit it, things used to be smoother when she was the junior partner to Harmon Rabb. Sure, she did not tend to end up in as many life threatening situations this way, but Harm had always had a way of clearing up paper work.

A muffled groan was issued outside of Meg's office door. Looking up she saw Mac shaking her head in frustration as Harm just stood there grinning. Maybe the extra paper work was not such a bad trade off after all.

Meg smiled down at her task. She was going to be at this mountain for a while. A large cup of coffee was most definitely in order. She began to stride towards the coffee machine when she saw an abrupt movement in Harm's office. Curious, she peered into the office, but she did not see any additional movement. Shrugging her shoulders, Meg continued on her way brushing off the movement as her over active imagination.

Clayton Webb, meanwhile, was swearing like a sailor in as many languages as he could speak. You take one month off for recuperative projects and your lackeys forget to inform you of important developments. Clayton Webb, evil task master of special operations concerning toilets, was going to return with a vengeance as soon as he made it back to the office.

Slowly, he poked his head around the corner of Rabb's desk. Meg's legs passed the open door of Rabb's office without slowing down. With a sigh of relief, Webb pulled back behind the desk and prepared to get up off of the floor.

"Clay, can I ask what exactly they did to you in rehab? Because this is strange even for you," the infuriating smirk of Harmon Rabb glared down from above.

"Rabb, did you ever think of drinking lots of coffee? You need to turn the wattage down on those incisors."

"Well, they obviously didn't do anything for your brain. You're still as snipper as ever."

"I don't think 'snipper' is a real word."

"No, but 'chipper' can't really be used to describe you, and you snip comments at me constantly so…"

"Rabb…"

"So, are you going to tell me why you're crawling around on my office floor?"

"I, ah, there was a mistake at the office while I was out and they bugged your desk. I was removing the bug."

"They bugged my desk?"

"Oh please, they didn't find out anything important, and I pulled it out. See?" Clay handed a small metallic piece toward Harm.

"Is this new? I don't think I've ever seen a bug like this before."

"Yes, yes. It's a brand new model. They were testing it out for reception range. Of, by the way, I got you that file you wanted."

"Thanks, but Mac wanted this. Why don't you take it down the hall to her office?"

"No, no. I've really got to run. You know, first day back and all. I've got paperwork to do, people to berate. I'm swamped," with that, Clay fairly sprinted from Harm's office.

"Man, what kind of pain killers did they put him on?" Harm muttered to himself.

"Commander?" Bud asked from the doorway.

"Oh, nothing Bud. I was just thinking out loud."

"Yes, sir. Sir?"

"Yes, Bud?"

"Why are you holding one of those cellphone signal boosters? You know they don't work."

"What?"

"That thing in your hand, its one of those signal boosters they advertise on TV all the time… which, of course, you wouldn't know about."

"That isn't what Webb said."

"Sir, after the way Mr. Webb just bolted out of here, I'm not sure he's exactly sane."

"You're right, Bud. He didn't seem his normal snoopy and arrogant self."

"No, sir. He didn't even stop by and tell me how inferior I was. I've seen him run slower when the admiral was chasing him."

"That does it. Something is definitely wrong with Webb."

"With who?" Meg asked as she entered the room with Mac.

"A friend of ours," Mac replied, "Webb works for the State Department."

Bud snorted and Harm smiled back at Meg, "Well, he's my and Mac's friend; he and Bud have a sort of Hate-Tolerate relationship."

"I see."

Mac took the file Webb had left and started paging through it, "Well, he got all the information I requested."

"You know, Mac, I'd like to know just exactly how you got him to give you that information."

"I simply asked, Harm. The fact that he was up on pain killers at the time had nothing to do with it."

"Pain killers?" Meg asked from the office corner.

Harm's customary grin faltered, "Yeah, Webb, had a freak…"

"…stable accident," Mac finished the sentence for Harm.

"His horse went crazy while he was in the stall with him," Bud helpfully supplied the details.

Meg stared at them suspiciously they were all lying, but why? Before she could complete her train of thought, Mac changed the topic.

"Well, Meg and I are going out for lunch. She needed a break from her paperwork. You're welcome to join us, Harm."

"Lunch? With you two? I'd sooner jump out of a plane without a parachute. Sometimes it is better if you don't know what's being said about you. Besides, I think I'll go check up on Webb."

"If you need help, call the Admiral. I'm sure he'll be more than willing to help you out."

"I'm sure he would, Mac, but I'll deal with this on my own."

"Suit yourself. Have a nice lunch, flyboy."

"You too, Marine."

Clayton Webb smiled at the now half empty office. That would teach the junior officers to omit necessary information from his briefings. To think that Meg had been in Virginia for almost a month and no-one had thought to inform him. He was supposed to be told of all developments at J.A.G.

"Was there a fire drill?" Harmon Rabb's voice interrupted Webb's musings.

"Rabb! How did you get in here?"

"Well, it wasn't that difficult considering the fact that your receptionist is busy cleaning out the coffee pot with a cotton swab."

"Oh, right. Well, what do you want?"

"Truthfully? I want to know why you're acting so strange."

"I'm not acting strange."

"Oh, yes, I forgot. You routinely huddle underneath my desk with a cellphone signal booster."

"Who told you that?"

"Bud."

"Drat that Roberts."

"You know that brings up another point. You didn't make any smart remarks to Bud today."

"So? That doesn't mean anything."

"Webb, with the exception of your mother, I probably know you about as well as anyone else."

"You really don't want to know."

"Would I be here if I didn't?"

"My ex was at J.A.G. today."

"_The_ ex?"

"Yes."

"Really? I didn't notice her."

"I didn't think you would have. She works there."

"She works at J.A.G.?"

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"I thought that she lived somewhere else."

"She did. She must have gotten transferred, a fact of which my staff apparently forgot to inform me."

"At least that explains why that guy was using his hair comb to straighten the carpet pile."

"Hey, that technique can be very useful for gathering evidence."

"And it makes the carpet look brand-new."

"It does have that advantage, yes."

"You didn't tell me she was a member of the armed services," Harm said as he switched back to their previous conversation.

"Yes, well I didn't tell you she was a lawyer either."

"She's a lawyer?" Harm's voice choked a little on the words as a horrible realization began to dawn.

"Rabb, are you going to keep repeating everything I say as a question?"

"Meg?" Harm's voice was definitely strangled.

"Do you have any other new lawyers that I don't know about?"

"Meg?!" Harm was beginning to look oxygen deprived.

"Harm? Harm, maybe you'd better sit down. You look terrible."

"You and, and Meg? I don't believe it. That is impossible, sweet little upright Meg and you?"

"Hey, I do have feelings."

"But, you aren't her type. You're…"

"Rich? Snobby? Egocentric? Secretive?"

"Yes."

"Don't worry. Its over, remember? You can pursue her to your heart's content."

"Why would I want to pursue my former partner?"

"You're former… Oh."

A look of understanding spread across Webb's face seconds before he dashed behind his desk.

"What are you doing?" Harm asked.

"I'm putting a solid object between us."

"Why?"

"Do I look stupid? You might not be a SEAL, but I know you can throw a punch just as well as Chegwidden can."

"Webb, I'm not going to hit you."

"Is that a real promise or a John Wayne 'I'm not gonna hit ya?'"

"Clay, did I ever hit Dalton Lowne?"

"Not that my files show."

"The why would I hit you? You aren't the greatest guy in the world, but I like you better than half of Mac's boyfriends."

"Even Brumby?"

"Especially Brumby. I supported Mac's choices. I'll support Meg's the same way."

"Begrudgingly?"

"I didn't say I was happy did I? Besides, at least you had a bona fide reason for not telling the truth, even if Meg doesn't know it."

"Well, then, I guess I only have one problem left."

"What's that?"

"Confronting Meg."


	7. 7

First chapter disclaimers

Webb stared morosely at the large sedan that sat in his mother's garage. He had fled to his mother's house for refuge as soon as Rabb had left his office. He had needed time to think. What Clay got was the keys to the one rusty car owned by his immediate family.

Porter Webb had some sort of sentimental attachment to the rattle trap that involved Clay's father. Never had Clay asked what importance the car held, but he had a strong suspicion that it involved an occurrence nine months before he was born.

In any case, the reason his mother kept the car was of no importance. The fact that Clay had to go get gas in it was. His mother's chauffer had broken his foot. The butler was out getting groceries, and for some unfathomable reason, Clayton Webb had been arbitrarily selected to go fill the tank up.

He eyed the car warily. It did not especially like him. He was a sporty car man, or a big expensive import car man. Old Ford sedans were not on the top of his 'to drive' list. He really did not care if they were considered 'classics.' Still, he had promised his mother, and Clayton Webb did not break his promises to his mother, his friends, maybe, but not his mother.

It was with great relief that he finally pulled into the gas station. His original plan of action had been modified from the time he had left his mother's garage to the time he arrived. First he had gotten an emergency call from the office. Two hours later, He had fixed the situation and ruined his best suit. Half an hour after that, he had bought a pair of cheap blue jeans and a tee-shirt from a local WalMart and dropped his suit off for dry cleaning.

This led him to having to stop at a different gas station then he had originally intended to stop at. He hated this particular gas station.

Despite being from an affluent family, Clayton Webb had spent two years of high school in the public system. His smaller size and larger wallet had incited many rounds of bullying from the local jocks. One of those said jocks owned this particular franchise store of a national gas company. The said jock also remembered Clay vividly. What was worse was that the man was determined to treat Clay not as a customer, but as the lesser human being that he had been in high school.

There was, however, no avoiding this particular gas station. He did not have enough fuel to make it anywhere else.

Clay had miraculously managed to slip in and out without being noticed when something horrible happened. He was about to swing into the driver's seat of the car when he looked over to the other side of the pump he was parked at.

Meg stared back at him.

"Meg," Clay choked out in what he hoped was a friendly 'don't hurt me' way.

"Clay, this must be your day off?" Meg responded as she eyed his attire.

"Yes, I'm actually filling up my mother's gas tank for her."

"That's nice that you'd use your discount here for your mother."

"My wha…" Clay's comment was broken off by a loud bellowing from the store.

"Clay! How dare you not say hi?" A large man rolled out of the store towards Webb, "Why, if Lucy hadn't told me you'd just been in, I would have missed you! It isn't neighborly to ignore your _fellow workers_," the man finished with a sneer.

Webb resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at the obnoxious man. It had been a standing joke in school that Webb would never have to work a day in his life. Cruel jokes on that theme had become standard during the short time he was not in a private school.

"I was just in a hurry," Webb smiled politely back. He turned to talk to Meg again, but found that she had slipped away into the store to pay her bill. Webb debated the wisdom of waiting for her. Any way he looked at it, it would end up in a big scene. A fight with his ex and a childhood bully at a Seven-Eleven was not what he would call a successful adventure. So, he took off.

Meg came back out of the store as soon as she saw Clay's car leave. It was silly. She had swung by the store to see if she could catch a glimpse of Clay. Then when she saw him she ran like a chicken. Meg shook her head. When had she gotten this way? And how did she punish Clay for making her this way? And, most importantly, how did she lure the man back?

Harm stared at Meg as inconspicuously as possible when she came in for work the next day. He had tried all night to picture her with Webb. After five hours, he had managed to envision them having coffee at a Starbucks together. But for the life of him, he could not imagine what Meg saw in Webb, or, for that matter, what Webb saw in Meg.

Okay, so Webb did appear to have a thing for blonds. But, really, Meg would drive Web insane after a while. It was not in Meg's nature to be sneaky, underhanded, or generally Webbish. She would be constantly nagging him about he behavior.

Harm smiled a little. That explained the attraction on Webb's part. What did Meg see?

From a purely physical standpoint, Clay was an attractive man. At least, that was what Mac had told him. He played the cello and women loved musicians. Although, Meg did not know that, and Meg did not know that Clay was wealthy.

That only meant that Meg had to be attracted to Webb's personality. It was a chilling thought, but it had to be it. Meg liked a good mystery, and Webb could be an enigma.

Satisfied that he had deduced what he could, Harm went back to work.

In doing so, he missed Clayton Webb's entrance. The afore mentioned spy slunk quickly along the walls until he reached the door to Meg's office. After a quick knock, he gained permission to enter.

Meg looked up from her computer screen. "Clay? How did you get in here?"

"Well, it isn't very hard. I just said that I had official business with you."

Meg motioned for him to sit down, "You know, I really didn't expect to see you here. I'm touched that you tracked me down and actually came here."

"Oh, it was no problem, really. I was in the neighborhood."

"Clay, I need to apologize…"

"No, no you don't. Meg, I'm the one who needs to apologize. I don't apologize often, so you'd better let me go first. I'm sorry I mislead you. I had a good reason when it started, but it got out of hand."

"And I shouldn't have exploded at you. I sprung the whole thing on you; you had to have been quite shocked."

"Yes, well, I knew your computer skills were good. I just didn't know they were that good."

Meg smiled, "I suppose I should thank you for wearing that suit to the office."

"This suit? Why?"

"It just isn't you normal attire."

"Yes, well. My better suits are at the dry cleaners."

Meg laughed heartily, "Oh, don't. It's too funny: you, playing the primping rich boy."

"What's to fake?" the Admiral's voice came in through the open door.

"A.J." Webb nodded in greeting.

"You know the Admiral?" Meg asked astonished.

"You know him?" Chegwidden asked Meg at the same time.

Meg frowned, "I met him a while ago when I took leave and went to Texas."

Chegwidden laughed and looked over at Webb, "You were in Texas? What'd you do, put the wrong file in the paper shedder?"

"Very funny."

Meg cleared her throat, "Sir, may I ask how you two know each other?"

"We work together professionally occasionally," Clay supplied.

"Professionally," Meg echoed, "How can you work together professionally? You pump gas for a living."

"I what?" Webb's face contorted in confusion.

"Lieutenant, I assure you that Mr. Webb is not a gas jockey."

"Mr. Webb? The one Lieutenant Roberts is always talking about?"

"Heaven help us if there's another one. Wait, I thought you knew each other."

Webb sighed, "I met her on an assignment."

"Webb…"

Clay took a quick glance at Chegwidden before he bolted. How did a simple apology become so complicated?


	8. 8

First chapter = disclaimers

Ah, this is a very short chapter, because I needed a scene between J.A.G. headquarters and the reunion scene. My apologies in advance.

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Clayton Webb stood very silently as Admiral Chegwidden stalked past his hiding place. S.E.A.L.s might be the best at infiltration for combat, but nothing beats a spy when you need to hide. As the Admiral stalked back towards the elevator, Webb released the slightest hint of a breath. His nose chimed in with a slight ache reminding him of why he took off in the first place.

This was not good. All this time there had been a rather large misconception where Meg was concerned. It was just his luck that Chegwidden stumbled in at the exact moment that he and Meg had their mutual epiphany.

Webb held his pager in front of him hopefully. No luck. Apparently he was not going to get an urgent call that would take him out of the country for eight to ten months. He slipped the small device pack into his pocket.

Mentally, he began to create a list of people at J.A.G. that would kill him on sight. Then he began to classify the list by type of method. Rabb would probably be merciful and just use a bullet. Chegwidden was definitely going to beat him to death. Mac would be subtle and poison him, then beat him. Bud would probably drag him off to his cozy little home and bore him to death with home movies of little A.J.

Hey, beatings were not that bad.

Meg, meanwhile had managed to wander into the bullpen with a slightly dazed look on her face.

"Meg, what's wrong?" Mac asked concernedly.

"I…" Meg looked around flustered.

"Maybe you should come and sit down. We'll use Harm's office. My spare chair got broken by an irate client." 

Mac gently led Meg into Harm's office and gently pushed into sitting in a chair. Harriet helpfully followed with a glass of water.

"Bud said that Admiral Chegwidden chased Mr. Webb out of her office earlier," Harriet supplied helpfully.

"I'm dating a snob." Meg blurted out.

Mac smiled soothingly, "Okay, now why don't you just calm down and… What?"

"I think she just intimated that she's dating Mr. Webb, Ma'am." Harriet clarified.

Mac sighed, "Thank you Lieutenant."

"We're not dating, anymore that is. I dumped him because I thought he was a manager of a gas station."

"You dumped him because of his job?"

"No, he had lied to me and told me he was a salesman. I thought he was a gas jockey."

"But, he still lied to you," Mac said soothingly.

"Yes, but when I confronted him, he told me the truth, only it wasn't the truth, but I thought he was lying so I dumped him."

"Did you understand that Bud?" Harm asked his compatriot from where they both were standing: in the doorway of Harm's office.

"No, sir." Bud said bewildered.

Mac rolled her eyes at them, "Why don't you two go elsewhere?"

"Because this is my office, Colonel," Harm swaggered into his office and dropped into his chair, "You know, Webb explained this whole thing in a much more coherent manner."

Mac drew herself to her full height, "Webb told you about this?"

"Sure he did, yesterday. I thought I'd let him handle it on his own. It looks like I should have known better."

"You certainly should have Commander," Chegwidden said as he squeezed his tall frame into the now stuffed office.

"Sirs," Bud asked timidly, "Is this something we should be discussing in a Naval work setting?"

"It concerns Webb and the welfare of my people, Roberts. That makes it my business," Chegwidden snapped back.

The Admiral turned and looked at Harm, "Why didn't you inform the rest of us of this?"

"I thought it was a personal matter, Sir."

"That never stopped you before," Mac countered slyly.

"Hey, what is this, pick on Rabb day? Aren't you all supposed to be mad at Webb?"

"I'm not." Meg's voice was quiet as she spoke.

"You're not?" Harriet responded incredulous.

"No; he's a spy. He was doing what he was supposed to do. Why does that make him a bad person? He did come here to try to straighten things out after all."

"You're just going to forgive him. You can't do that!" Chegwidden remarked.

"Why not, Sir?"

"Because I need something to hold over the man's head. He's a menace!"

"But he's useful, so the Admiral can't just shoot him," Mac filled in the unspoken words for the admiral.

Meg sighed, "Look this was a big shock, but I'm fine now. I really don't need any of your help." She got up to leave, "Except, could one of you give me his address?"


	9. 9

First chapter = disclaimers

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Meg shook her head as she stomped through the hallways of Clayton Webb's apartment complex. As much as she respected the Admiral, she could not see why he seemed to dislike Clayton Webb so much. Sure, he was sneaky; it was his job to be sneaky.

The Admiral's general attitude was easy to understand compared to his insane defense of Webb though. Meg had asked if there was any reason to suspect that Clay had been in any way unfaithful to his country. She did not think she had ever seen a person do a complete about face so quickly.

One moment the Admiral and Bud were listing off the various evils of Clayton Webb, so she asked what she had perceived as a logical question. The next thing she knew, she was getting lectured about how she would never again whisper the words "Webb" and "mole" in the same sentence unless she was speaking about beauty marks.

She was totally bewildered. Nobody except for Harm and Mac seemed to like the guy, but no one could say he had ever done anything that was not for a greater good, even if it was devious and detrimental to friendships. 

After the hubbub at the office had died down, she had managed to make it through her work day. Before she left, she finagled Webb's address out of Harm: hence her being in front of his door. She took a deep breath before she knocked.

Inside his apartment, Clayton Webb froze. His eyes quickly darted to his clock. Just enough time had passed from the end of the standard JAG shift for someone to drive to apartment. If that someone was Chegwidden, he was dead. He could, of course, look through the peephole, but Chegwidden would hear him moving around in his apartment, and he would be toast. He did not successfully navigate his escape from JAG headquarters only to become blender food at his own apartment.

On the other hand, it could be Meg, or it could be Harm with a message from Meg, or it could be his mother asking why there was a new dent in the hood of her car. Clay winced. He really should not have banged that guy's head there when Meg went in to pay for her gas.

Well, he reasoned, he really should go and see who it was. He opened the door just as Meg was about to knock again.

"I was beginning to think you weren't home."

Webb shrugged, "I thought you were Chegwidden. I do own a doorbell, you know."

Meg smiled, "I figured the doorbell was too polite. Knocking usually gets people's attention more than ringing the doorbell."

Webb motioned for her to come in, "Barbarian."

"For not using the doorbell?"

"I'm a snob, didn't they tell you that?"

"Among other things."

"And you didn't belt me one as soon as you saw my face? Well, you have more control than the Admiral does."

"The Admiral hit you?"

"How did you think I broke my nose?"

"When? Why?"

"Rabb, Mac, Russia: don't really like to relive it."

"I suppose not."

"It is the price I pay for my job. You do know what I do now right? You don't think I'm secretly a circus clown or anything?"

"Not unless circus clowns play cellos now."

"I wouldn't know. I haven't been to a circus in years."

"Would you like to?"

"To what?"

Meg rolled her eyes, "Go to a circus."

"Why?"

"Are you being dense on purpose, or is this one of those guy things?"

"Umm, guy thing. It just sounded like you asked me to go to the circus with you."

"I did."

"Why?"

"You're infuriating, you know that? Because I thought it would be nice to see if we still had a thing going."

"Two questions. First, don't you think we're a little old for the circus?  Second, why do still want to go anywhere with me?"

"Because I happen to like mysterious, scheming men, and nobody is too old for popcorn, peanuts, and cotton candy."

"And watching grown men run around in makeup?"

"Just think of the clowns as mimes. That should be culturally acceptable for you."  
  


"I use mimes for target practice. That's why my aim is off."

"You can't shoot straight?"

"Ah, it's something between Chegwidden and I. Forget I said anything. So, you really like the fact that I'm underhanded?"

"Clay, all men are devious in relationships. This time, I know you're sly straight off. Besides, if you ever cheat on me, there are whole slew of people at Jag who would be more than willing to kill you for me."

"Now there's a comforting thought."

"It's your reputation; there is nothing I can do about it."

"Well then, I accept your offer to go to the circus. I'll get the tickets."

"Of course you will. I'm getting paid a naval salary. You have a family fortune."

"You're slightly mercenary, you know that?"

"No, I'm not. Sometimes you just have to put your bull back in line."

"You're comparing me to your family livestock?"

"Well it worked. Did anyone ever tell you that you're adorable when you're irritated?"

"What?"

"Is that your favorite word, Clay? You seem to be using it an awful lot tonight."

"I think my brain is shutting down. I'm having a little bit of trouble following your thought processes."

"Then I'm doing my job. Before I go, I have one more thing to shut your brain off."

"What is that?"

"This," Meg grabbed Webb's collar, hauled him close and almost sucked the air out of his lungs.

"Goodnight, Clay. I'll let myself out," she called over her shoulder as she left.

Clayton Webb stared dazedly at his door as it closed. Women.

He turned and stumbled into his bedroom. He looked into his mirror to see a perplexed and dopey look on his face. With a grunt of disgust, he pushed away from the offending reflection. Clayton Webb was never perplexed and most certainly never dopey.

He wondered if the agency was looking into the inner psyche of women. Their tactics certainly could do wonders for interviewing prisoners. The poor people would probably be so confused, they would beg to cooperate.

With a short smile, he plopped onto his bed and tugged his shoes off. He was going to the circus, and he hated the circus. He had had a very bad experience with the elephant ride as a child. Maybe the Agency should look into the psyche of men to find out what makes them susceptible to women's ways…


	10. 10

First chapter = disclaimers

g to the requester: 1 Clayton Webb in a suit at the circus.

Well, this is the end of this fic. I hope you all enjoyed it :}

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Clayton Webb stared mindlessly at the brightly colored clowns. He wasn't quite sure, but he had the feeling that the cotton candy on top of two hot dogs, a bag of peanuts and a bag of pretzels might not have been a good idea. Meg, on the other hand seemed to be having a marvelous time.

"You know, you wouldn't feel so stuffed if you'd worn normal clothes," Meg said as she tugged at Webb's vest.

"These are my normal clothes."

Meg looked at him, "They are?"

"Yes they are, and that car you saw me driving is my mother's. I drive a small flashy red sports car."

"Then why didn't you drive instead of making me?"

"Because I let Rabb borrow my car for a date."

"You let Harm take your car?"

"He didn't hurt me for dating you. I prefer not to have debts like that hanging over my head."

"Who was he taking out?"

"The wrong person."

"How can you say that?"

"Because they're always the wrong person, Rabb can be incredibly dense when it comes to his love life."

"Unlike you?"

"Yes, unlike me. I happened to pick a perfect woman. I just had a hard time understanding what was going on. My reactions are typically male. Rabb's are pure idiocy. He dates bimbos because he's really in love with someone else."

Meg smiled, "You use the word 'bimbo'?"

"Well, I used to use 'hussy,' but my fellow office workers accused me of spending too much time around my mother. Besides, I notice that you didn't ask who he was really in love with."

"There's no point in denying the truth is there? I always thought that Harm had a soft spot for Mac when he used to write to me. Now I've seen them together. I'm amazed that they don't see it."

"They do take love is blind to a new level, don't they?" Clay smirked.

"Yes, they do. Then again, you happen to be the epitome of 'a fool in love' right now. I can't believe you're actually at a circus with me."

Clay smiled, "I'm full of surprises. It's why I'm good at what I do. You have to be inventive when you pump gas for a living."

Meg swatted him on the arm, "That isn't funny. You have a sick sense of humor to laugh at me like that."

"Oh, and if I mistakenly thought that you were a Las Vegas showgirl, you wouldn't laugh at me?"

"Of course I would, I couldn't wear the outfits."

"So?"

"So what?"

"So what about me?"

"Oh, I don't think you'd look good in the costumes either, Clay. You don't have the legs for the tights."

"You've been around Rabb too long."

"Hush, their bringing out to human cannonball."

"Joy."

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Meg smiled as she escorted Webb to his front door, "I had a wonderful time tonight."

"Even after I screamed when the elephant walked towards me?"  
  


"Especially after that, why don't you like elephants anyway?"

"The same reason I hated the circus. Bad childhood episode, not something I like talking about."

"What about your dislike of clowns then?"

"Nobody truly like clowns past the age of eleven."

"I do."

"Meg, dear, you're also dating a man that everyone at your office has a distaste for. I'm not sure you count."

"Clay, did anyone ever tell you that you have an abrasive personality?"

"Not in so many words, but yes. And before you say another word, you know that you wouldn't have it any other way. You're too nice of a girl to marry a nice guy. It would be like living in re-runs of 'Leave it to Beaver'."

Meg smiled, "Isn't 'marriage' a little strong of a word?"

"I always plan my social life at least six months in advance. That way I don't have to make decisions when I'm in the field."

"What happens when you can't make an engagement?"

"Oh, I don't think I'll be breaking this one, when I make it that is."

"So you're basically informing me that you're going to propose sometime in the next six months?"

"Who said that?"

"You… You're exasperating."

"I am, and you like it."

"I don't like it. I'm annoyed by it."

"Yes, but you like it when I annoy you. Therefore, you like it when I'm exasperating."

"Clay…"

"Yes?"

"Never mind."

Clay smiled, "I'm an exceptionally aggravating person, I know."

"Actually, I was wondering if you were ever going to quit talking and kiss me."

"That's rather blunt."

"It is, and you like it."

"That I do," Clay grabbed her and swiftly kissed her mouth.

Yes, indeed this was going to be one heck of a romance. Assuming they didn't kill each other first.

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THE END


End file.
